Thoughts
by vansdarkjeansandscars
Summary: Ross has fame, money, girls, everything he could possibly want. He's just not satisfied. There has to be more to life than this shallow, on the surface popularity contest, or so he thinks. He buys a journal, to keep his thoughts in, and a tale of self discovery follows. Turns out he didn't know himself as well as he thought. R5 story, mainly focused on Ross's inner thoughts.
1. He Begins To Face Himself

**Hey guys! I'm Alex, and this is my first story. I'd really appreciate reviews, because I'm not very sure of myself as a writer, and I might get too anxious and take it down after a little bit, if nobody says anything. Anyway, this story is going to be written using my personal life experience, just using Ross as the character. I hope you enjoy it, and I'll start writing the next chapter as soon as I've got a review or two. I really appreciate you taking the time out of your day to read this. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ross, or R5, and this is entirely a work of fiction.**

This was not Ross Shor Lynch.

This was a broken, mangled, destroyed shell of a boy with the same name. Fame, he thought he could handle it. He couldn't. He wanted to have his simple life back. He wanted to live in _peace._ He wasn't sleeping more than three hours a night, and with a show to play every day, this pattern left him exhausted, emotional, and helpless. He was barely eating, dumping most all of his dinners into the garbage can when nobody was looking. He cried on a daily basis, usually about nothing. He'd run out of the room during rehearsals, lock himself in the bathroom, and sob into his older brother's bath towel to muffle the sound.

Ross didn't want his family to see him this way, so he just kept it all inside. He was so sad, so mopey, that he was shocked that nobody noticed. It led him to the far fetched idea that no one really cared about him. If they did, wouldn't they notice his suffering? The rational part of his mind knew that it was his responsibility to reach out for help, but it didn't change the feeling. He felt alone, like nobody cared for him, like he could stop existing at any second and people wouldn't even notice.

Ross wanted to write darker songs, but he knew the label would reject them, since it's not the band's style. He wanted a heavier sound to their music, but that couldn't happen either. He wanted to be treated like a serious musician, but with Disney, you just don't get any respect.

He decided, that day, to pick up a 99 cent journal from the store. He needed to vent his emotions. He had been holding off on doing this for fear of his family finding the notebook. Making sure to set his alarm early, to allow the run to the store to obtain the item, Ross tried to sleep that night.

It was actually a decent sleep for him, about two and a half hours of uninterrupted rest before his alarm woke him on the first beep. He slid out of the bunk, and tossed on a jacket, beanie, and a pair of dark vans. The rest of the bus was still fast asleep, at barely five in the morning, and the sky outside was the kind of mellow gray you only saw on fall mornings.

They were in Denver, probably. He didn't really keep track anymore. Being back in Colorado, where he was raised, should make him happy, but he couldn't break free of his depression to enjoy it.

One thing he did know how to do was navigate the city pretty well. After stepping out of the bus, he was able to walk his way to the nearest Walmart in about ten minutes. Not much after that, he left the blue building, clutching a simple, black composition notebook and a sharpie. With the marker, still walking, he sprawled _**Thoughts **_on the front cover messily. He was about to put his name on it out of habit, but stopped himself. He wanted to take no blame for this if it was discovered. Pocketing the marker, he set his sights on the donut shop across the street. He didn't eat much, but when he did, it was always junk food.

At the shop, he ordered a large coffee, black, and two simple, glazed donuts. He grabbed his meal, and sat down in one of the booths, pushing his body as far back in the corner as possible, hoping to not be recognized at all. Placing the composition book in front of him, he stared at the front cover, feeling a slight amount of excitement in his bones. There was so many possibilities of what could be written on those pages. Opening the book, he pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket, and began to write.

_September 28, 2014_

_I have breakfast this morning. I don't really want to eat. I'm lazy. Freak._

_Whoa, stop there. Is this really how I think all the time? That's messed up._

_Why do I exist? Why do any of us, really? There's no higher purpose, at least, I don't believe in one. _

_God's a dick. Sexist, racist, homophobe. I hate him._

_Well I'm going to hell. Good. I deserve it._

_Why do I deserve it? Maybe because I always mess up, always create problems, and am never going to be good enough. I just want to sleep forever, but I really can't sleep at all. _

_I should buy some pills for that._

_No. I might do something dumb with them._

_Or worse, a fan could see me buying them and post it all over Tumblr._

_Seriously, do people not know what privacy is?_

_No they don't. They all think they're in love with me, that they're gonna marry me, or worse, that I'm going to marry Ratliff. Shipping confuses me. Like, I'm not gay. I would address that publicly if i was. I've got too many LGBTQ fans out there suffering. I wouldn't hide that._

_I'm not hungry. I'm going to give these donuts to the homeless guy on the street corner. Then I'll go home and try to sleep some more._

_Until we have to get up for another interview, answering the same twenty questions over and over and over._

_It all makes me sick._

_Perfect life?_

_Maybe better than most, but it's not perfect._

_It's tedious. Tiring. Depressing._

_I got a letter last week about a fan that killed herself._

_That killed me._

_I'm so sorry, girl I never knew. I couldn't help you._

_Yeah, I'm leaving now._

Ross shut the book, his hands shaking. He was angry, and he didn't even know why. He wanted to break things, he wanted to scream. Most of all, he wanted to ruin his reputation as this Disney kid. He wanted tattoos, he wanted rock and roll music. He didn't want what he currently had, which was truthfully better than most people could dream of. That's why he's selfish.

Pushing himself out of the booth, he dropped the coffee in the trash, after taking one long drink. He hated coffee, in truth. He just needed the energy it would give him, maybe help him get through the day without crying as much. Picking up the donuts, his journal, and gathering his sanity, Ross left the shop.

On his walk home, he passed off the pastries to the homeless man on the corner. "God bless you." The man said. "Have a good day." Ross responded.

And then he went home.


	2. The Thought He Fears

**Thanks so much to _hiddenauslly and a guest _for the reviews! It really means a lot to me! Also, thanks to _ , Sandyjoy98, , Playing in the Sun, LoveIsLouder13, Queen23 and hiddenauslly for the follows/favorites! I didn't expect this warm of a welcome! Please, if you like this story, remember to review, as it inspires me to keep writing. Well, without further ado, here's the second chapter!_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Ross, or R5, and this story is a complete work of fiction._**

Well, it wasn't really much of a home. The bus. It was cramped and cluttered, and living that _close _to people, even your family, could drive anyone up a wall. By the time Ross got back, Rocky was in the shower, and Riker was fumbling with toaster waffles in the crowded kitchen. He passed a nod to his brother, being too tired to speak, and collapsed into his bunk.

As soon as he shut his eyes, they were back again. Thoughts. They wouldn't let him sleep, always talking too loud, taking up too much space in his head. And Ross had developed a habit of letting them win, like this time. He sat up, and took out the journal from under his hoodie. Ross uncapped a blue pen, and tried to organize the thoughts, tried to put them into words.

_No_

Just one word. That was all he could manage. No, what? No to fame? No to being a goody two shoes? No to never having privacy? Ross wasn't sure, but that's what he felt.

_**No**_

He wrote it again, bigger, and dug in with the pen so hard it left an indent on the next page. He went to underline the word, and lost control of himself, leaving a ton of dark, heavy scribbles over both the 'no's' and what he had written at the coffee shop. He was getting worked up, and once he had finished, he tucked his head into his knees. He breathed heavy, felt the air, hot and rapid against his face.

One tear. That's all that had fallen before Rocky opened the bathroom door. Ross sprung to his feet, dropping the journal on his bed haphazardly, and running to take his older brother's place in the shower.

Except he didn't _really _shower. He just turned on the water, and placed a shampoo bottle at the bottom of the shower so it would make more noise. This gave him a way to collapse on the floor crying, without his family hearing him. It gave him five minutes alone with himself. As tears streamed down his face, landing in a puddle on the tile floor next to his hands, he just thought. Didn't write, no. He just had himself right now.

_Fucking selfish. That's what I am. I've got it so nice. Why can't I just help myself? Why can't I just be honest with people about how I feel. Obviously, I know why. I can't ruin my reputation. Fucking Disney. Worst mistake I ever made taking that job. Yeah, yeah, poor rich attractive talented white boy feeling bad for himself. I have everything. Why am I depressed? Maybe I'm just lazy. I hate this. I hate everything. I want to-_

"Ross?"

Oh thank god. Rydel just saved him. Saved him from thinking something he definitely shouldn't have thought. He wasn't going to let himself go there. Never. He had to...he couldn't just...

And, great. He was crying again. "Yeah?" He answered back, keeping his voice quiet in the hopes she couldn't tell that he wasn't really in the shower. Or that he had been crying. God, what if she was knocking because she _had _heard him? He'd be fucked. Well, not really. He'd just have to tell them what's wrong. Or he could lie. Yeah, he'd probably lie. 'Everything's fine' he could hear himself saying, just to run off to sob into his jacket sleeve behind a tree because he realized what a vile person he is for lying to his own family, who want nothing but to help and support him.

"Are you going to be out of the shower soon? I need to wash my hair." Rydel called. Oh. Ross exhaled the breath he had been holding. He nodded for some reason, even though he knew she couldn't see his face. Thank god for that.

"Yeah. I'll be out in just a minute." He called back, hoping she couldn't tell how shaky his voice was. He wasn't done crying yet, but he had to be. He had to get out of here, which meant he had to calm down. He stood up, wiping his hand over the puddle of tears was, smearing it so it wasn't obvious. Ross sniffed a few times, wiping his eyes as he almost collapsed again.

_No_

Wow, wasn't that a popular word today. He reached over, shutting off the water for the shower, allowing himself no more room to cry. He walked over to the sink, and washed his face. After the majority of the redness in his cheeks had subsided, though there was nothing he could do about the eyes, he started stripping his clothes off. Once naked, he ran his head under the water, getting his hair thoroughly wet, so it could be believed that he had taken a shower. Lastly, shutting off the faucet, Ross rubbed his head with a towel, drying it a bit, and leaving himself looking like a porcupine. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and, taking a deep breath, exited the bathroom to face his family.


	3. Not Now, Not Ever

Ross left the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He noticed the stares from his older brother, Riker. "What?" He asked, sitting down on the couch and being unable to keep the grouchy annoyance out of his voice. He didn't mean it, he was just too tired to stop himself. Riker blinked at him, before throwing a toaster waffle into his lap.

"Nothing. It's just, you've gotten really...skinny. Pale, too. You look sick. Are you okay?"

_No._

"Yeah, I'm fine." Ross responded, a tinge of sadness now entering his speech. He looked at the waffle in his lap. Had he really done that bad of a job of making everything seem all right? He guessed he _had _to eat it. Even if the thought of food right now made him want to puke. He picked up the waffle and took a bite. The food tasted incredibly dry in his mouth, and he had to fight the urge to spit it back out.

Riker nodded, seeming satisfied. "Where were you this morning?" He asked, sitting down next to his younger brother.

_Dammit._

Because Riker hadn't left, Ross had to continue eating. He reluctantly took another bite of the, somehow, repulsive breakfast food, and found it even harder to get it down this time. "Um, out for a walk." Ross responded nervously.

_Liar._

That's when he remembered about the journal. Sitting hazardously on his bed, in plain sight, where everyone can see it, with an intriguing title on the front. Yeah, that was a good idea. Ross stood up, hoping to play it off coolly. "I'm, uh, gonna get dressed." He said, starting to walk away.

"Okay." Riker said. "Just, next time, when you decide to take off like that, leave us a note or something. You had Rocky and me worried."

_Fucking selfish prick. Can't even think for anyone but yourself, not even for your family._

"Sorry." He said, a pair of black skinnyjeans and a gray longsleeve t-shirt in his hands. He headed for his bunk, trying not to cry until he was out of sight. Flopping down on the mattress, he pulled the curtain over the front so he could no longer be seen from the outside.

Tears rolled silently down his face as he stuffed the journal underneath his pillow as a temporary hiding place. He awkwardly pulled on his boxers and jeans, kicking the towel to the bottom of the bed. He hit his head twice while trying to put his shirt on. Reaching outside the curtain just enough to grab his shoes, he slid them on, not bothering with socks.

_There. Now whenever we have to leave, I'm ready to go the second I get up. _

He rested his head against the pillows, shutting his eyes in the hope he would get some sleep. And he almost did.

"Ross! We gotta go!" Rydel yelled, tapping on one of the bedposts with her fist. He snapped out of his restful daze (he wouldn't go as far to call it sleep, but it was still nice), and immediately tore open the curtain to put his feet on the ground.

You know that feeling when you get woken up, and have to move immediately? You can hear your heartbeat, and its really heavy, but for some reason you're really good at getting going, much more so than a normal person would be at this time in the morning. Well, that's how Ross was every day. So, it didn't even faze him, the pounding of his blood in his ears, as he was ushered out of the bus, and into a car.

He doesn't really remember the interview. He basically nods the whole time, letting everyone else answer the questions. If a topic he has a strong feeling on is brought up, he'll make a comment, but nothing too in depth. He was too tired for that.

He was, however, focused on something Riker had said that morning. His brother had called him skinny, and now he was noticing it. How every time he stood up, or even shifted in his seat, he had to pull up his jeans. Skinnyjeans. He'd managed to lose enough weight that they were slipping down past his hipbones every time he moved, without even noticing.

He was also cold all of the time. He'd been aware of that before, but had never made the connection in his mind. His hair was falling out sometimes. He felt weak and agitated 24/7. He was getting a weird coloring of skin tone, and his nails and teeth were turning yellow. Yet, in every YouTube comment's section, girls (and guys, for that matter) are complimenting him on how attractive he is. How? He understood how before, with his abs and tan skin, but now? He kind of resembled a corpse.

So that's why, when they got back to the bus, he went straight for the bathroom. He cried some more. Then he took his shirt off, and traced the bones visible with his finger. Ribs, collarbones, hipbones, the whole nine yards. He felt a sort of sick satisfaction at the destruction of his own body.

_At least nobody will call me fat._

But girls didn't like this. He was a skeleton. Girls would hate this. He kind of hated it too. He'd had a body people loved, he loved, and he hadn't really needed to try hard to get it. But then, he slipped into a depression, and lost what he thought he might never get back. Self love.

The word's been in his mind for awhile. He's just never let himself consciously address it. If you have no hope, no will to live, what do you do?

_Suicide._

Such a dark word. He never thought it would be on his mind, but it is. He won't allow himself to explore the possibilities thought, as he fears he may discover that it would be all too easy.

Ross slipped his shirt back on, and left the bathroom.

_No. I'm not doing this. Not now, not ever. _


End file.
